


so open your eyes and see the way our horizons meet

by MotherKarizma



Series: here comes the sun [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Deal With It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Peter Parker, Light Angst, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Orphan Peter Parker, Past Drug Addiction, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Sad Peter Parker, Several in Fact - Freeform, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers is an asshole, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Yes its both, completed series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22776628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MotherKarizma/pseuds/MotherKarizma
Summary: Peter was finally starting to get used to life in Avengers Tower.His walls were adorned with five-dollar Star Wars posters (despite Mister Stark offering repeatedly to buy him nicer décor). He knew how to get to the kitchen without somehow finding himself on the wrong floor, and was comfortable enough helping himself to things in said kitchen. In the lab, a written copy of his web formula was taped to the wall next to a work table Tony had gladly designated as Peter’s own.The smell of coffee he didn’t drink and the sound of laughter in the morning made him smile. His body still ached and his mood had yet to stabilize, but his cravings for the heroin that had once been his lifeblood grew weaker, easier to overpower with each passing day. Peter was finding his groove in this new life; Peter was adjusting.It just sucked that nobody but Tony seemed to want him there.-----Not everyone in the Tower is as eager as Tony to take in a drug-addicted, orphaned teenager. Misunderstandings ensue.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: here comes the sun [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1633516
Comments: 55
Kudos: 1223
Collections: The Best Irondad/Spiderson Fics, The Best Peter Parker Whump Fics, The Best of the Best MCU Fics, ellie marvel fics - read





	so open your eyes and see the way our horizons meet

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE TO NEW READERS: this is the fourth work in a 12-part series! i highly recommend reading the previous works first, then returning to this one, as this work makes little to no sense as a stand-alone. 
> 
> ahhh guys! i'm having so much fun writing this series! like i'm genuinely enjoying this so much (which is why the updates are coming out so quickly). i hope you're liking it as much as i am! enjoy!
> 
> [ed sheeran - all of the stars](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WdSYSHBmCwo)  
> \\\so open your eyes and see  
> the way our horizons meet  
> and all of the lights will lead  
> into the night with me  
> and i know these scars will bleed  
> but both of our hearts believe  
> all of these stars will guide us home//

Peter was finally starting to get used to life in Avengers Tower.

His walls were adorned with five-dollar Star Wars posters (despite Mister Stark offering repeatedly to buy him nicer décor). He knew how to get to the kitchen without somehow finding himself on the wrong floor, and was comfortable enough helping himself to things in said kitchen. In the lab, a written copy of his web formula was taped to the wall next to a work table Tony had gladly designated as Peter’s own.

The smell of coffee he didn’t drink and the sound of laughter in the morning made him smile. His body still ached and his mood had yet to stabilize, but his cravings for the heroin that had once been his lifeblood grew weaker, easier to overpower with each passing day. Peter was finding his groove in this new life; Peter was adjusting.

It just sucked that nobody but Tony seemed to want him there.

* * *

At first, Peter had given everyone the benefit of the doubt. He thought he was just being paranoid, that maybe this was a part of the irritability and moodiness Bruce had warned him he might experience for several more months. That he was overthinking things. That everything was, in reality, just fine.

Now, Peter knew better: he wasn’t imagining it. With the exceptions of Tony and Bruce, the Avengers were well and truly disgruntled by his invasion of their home. It was like Loki and the Battle of New York all over again.

 _Well._ Okay. They weren’t Loki-level disgruntled by his presence. But they were disgruntled, nonetheless. That much was glaringly obvious.

These feelings were cemented in Peter’s mind on a sunny Tuesday morning three weeks into his stay when, on a whim, he woke up early to make blueberry muffins.

In the name of fairness and honesty, Peter had to admit that the muffins weren’t the best. It was a recipe he used to make with Aunt May, and she, as much as he loved her, had been an awful cook. But they smelled like childhood to him. Nostalgia wafted through the kitchen as they baked. They reminded him of her; a bittersweet taste for bittersweet memories.

Yeah, they weren’t great – but they could have been the best muffins in the world as far as the Avengers knew, because no one even bothered to try them.

“Hey, uh – Captain Rogers?” Peter poked his head hesitantly into the common room where said Captain sat on the couch, eyes locked on the paperback in his lap.

“Hm,” he acknowledged without looking up.

“I made muffins. They’re in the kitchen. If – you know, if you want–“

Steve cut him off. “No, thank you. I prefer to make my own food.”

The tone was cool enough to send a legitimate shiver down his spine, to make his body temperature drop a degree or two. And, yeah, he did understand the reasoning: Steve was an _Avenger,_ not to mention a time-tested celebrity. He couldn’t just accept any old food or drink anybody handed to him. There were plenty of people in the world who would like to see him poisoned, but–

“But Nat made dinner last night,” Peter pointed out weakly, acutely aware of how his expression crumbled and glad, in a way, that Steve wasn’t looking to see it. “You ate that.”

“I trust Natasha with my life.”

And it wasn’t even really the declined offer, the rejection of his culinary creation, that washed a sudden wave of emotion over Peter, that set a lump in his throat. It was the callous and uncaring way Steve said it. It was the implication.

It was the unspoken yet still so very loud, _I don’t trust you_.

“Okay,” Peter whispered. “I – yeah. Okay. Sorry for bothering you, Captain Rogers.”

Steve said nothing. He idly flicked to the next page as if he hadn’t heard a thing.

Peter returned to the kitchen and discarded every muffin down the garbage chute.

* * *

Tony tapped Peter’s head gently with a pencil as he passed by. “Daydreaming about cute girls?”

Peter, slumped over his table in the lab and staring unseeing at his disassembled web shooters, fought back the urge to scoff, to roll his eyes, maybe to break something (and there was the irritability – he’d wondered when that would kick in). The days where he’d been carefree enough to daydream about cute girls felt a lifetime away.

He shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“Oh. Cute boys? I’m not judgy.”

“I’m not daydreaming.” Peter pushed the web shooters aside, folded his arms over the surface of the table, and lay his head on top of them. “Just – thinking.”

The sound of a hand rummaging through tools stopped abruptly. Mister Stark’s favorite old stool squeaked.

“Tech-thinking or brooding-thinking?” He asked, softer, all hints of teasing gone. “Do you need to talk, kid? We can talk. I’m not busy.”

Did he _need_ to talk to someone, to get this gross feeling of rejection and displacement that festered inside of him out? Probably.

Did he _want_ to?

Hell no.

Especially not when the thing he needed to talk about was how much Tony’s loved ones hated him, and the only person he could talk to about it was Tony.

“No, it’s okay.” Peter lifted his head, turned, and looked at Tony through bleary eyes. Tony looked back at him intently, the crow’s feet by his eyes wrinkled in concern, a slight frown in place. “I’m kind of tired, though. Is it alright if I go back upstairs?”

“Of course. It’s not like I’m holding you hostage down here. Is this that PAWS thing Bruce was talking about?”

“Yes,” Peter lied, and left the lab without another word.

* * *

Peter wasn’t actually tired. Not physically, at least.

Mentally? Emotionally? That was a whole ‘nother ballpark.

He hid out in his suite for the rest of the morning, killing time and trying not to think about the deep ache in his chest. He flipped through a few comic books, flipped through TV channels, flipped between _talk to Tony_ and _don’t bother him with this._

At around noon, his stomach began to growl. Peter would have much preferred staying hidden in his cave to venturing up into that cursed, muffin-less kitchen, but his metabolism made hunger a difficult discomfort to bear, and Bruce had been hounding him to gain weight. Unintentionally losing it instead would no doubt earn him the mother of all chew-outs from Bruce and Tony both. So venture, he did.

He had just stepped out of the elevator onto the sixteenth floor when those fine hairs on the nape of his neck stood straight. Goosebumps ran down his arms. The reason why soon became clear: with his enhanced hearing, he picked up the sound of low, tense voices bickering.

Peter froze around the corner and listened.

“…like it or not, he’s here to stay, so you’d better get fucking used to it.”

Something uncomfortable, similar to nausea, churned in his stomach. That was Tony’s voice, but in a way Peter had never heard it used. He sounded absolutely venomous.

Captain Rogers replied, calmer but equally as firm: “We barely know this kid, Tony. _You_ barely know him. You’d think a genius like yourself would know better than to invite strangers into the Tower.”

“He’s not a _stranger,_ you dipshit. He saved my life. If it hadn’t been for him, you’d be hosing me off the streets of Queens like applesauce.”

“We had it handled.”

“You really fucking didn’t.”

Bile rose in Peter’s throat, making it hard to breathe. His hands shook where they were clenched at his sides. On legs that felt like jelly, he turned and hurried back into the elevator.

He didn’t need to hear anymore.

Tony and Steve – _Tony and Steve,_ the synchronized leaders, the greatest tag team in modern history – were fighting over him. He’d driven a wedge between the Avengers. That civil war going down in the kitchen was all his own doing, the direct result of his selfishness and ignorance.

How had he _ever_ thought it was okay to accept Tony’s offer, to take advantage of the man’s guilt in feeling like he owed Peter a favor for saving him?

His head spun and his heart raced. Peter, predictable as ever, did what he’d always done when the going got rough.

He fled.

* * *

The air was sticky and humid, but a light breeze curled through the streets of Queens, making it almost bearable. Peter inhaled the fresh air, something he hadn’t gotten a lot of since going to live at the Tower, and tried not to cry.

It was strange to walk the streets of his old city without a mask on his face or heroin in his veins. Strange, but nice. Nostalgic, like the muffins. Peter passed by his old school, where all of his friends had graduated without him only a couple of months before. He passed that Thai place Ben and May had loved so much. He passed their old apartment building and averted his eyes.

He passed every subway station. Peter walked, and walked, and walked.

By the time it began to sunk in what he’d done, how damn mad Tony was going to be when he turned up missing, how undoubtedly relieved everyone else would be, the sun was beginning to set. Peter approached yet another familiar place – but, this time, he stopped.

The old park he used to play in when he was little, not far from his elementary school, was empty. What had once been colorful slides and sleek metal was now graffiti-covered and rusted. Broken.

Peter choked on a huff of laughter and swallowed hard. Yet another thing that had once been precious to him, now completely and utterly destroyed. Stolen innocence and bitter, eerie silence. How fitting.

So fitting, in fact, that he saw no reason not to bask in it for a while. With a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure he wasn’t earning himself any odd looks, Peter hopped over the low-down fence surrounding the park and headed for the swings.

They’d seemed so big back when he’d been so little. He used to need Ben’s help to climb into the malleable seat. His feet hadn’t touched the ground. He’d swung mere feet into the air and felt like he was flying; like he might, if he were brave enough to let go of the chains and jump like some of the other kids, be able to reach out and grasp the clouds. Now his knees were bent at an odd angle as he sat. He made no attempt to swing, to fly, to reach.

What was the point? His five year old self had been incredibly stupid to think he could reach out to anything beyond himself and have any chance of touching it. Why bother, why put himself through all the effort, when everything he touched shattered, anyway?

It would be a terrible shame to break a perfectly whole sky.

Peter sat motionless on the swing and stared at the ground as the sky grew dark. With nobody around to see, he let the tears he’d been biting back all day fall. They soaked into the dirt and disappeared.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there – hours, maybe, while the muggy heat of day turned into the chill of night and he began to wish he’d at least brought a jacket, began to wonder which luxurious rooftop he would be sleeping on that night, wonder how much longer the pathetic excuse for a hero’s suit in his backpack would hold up before he’d have to make a new one. But at some point, company arrived.

Light flashed above him. The sound of those familiar repulsors reached his ears. Behind his back, something metallic hit the ground.

Peter didn’t bother running; he knew he wouldn’t be able to get away. He’d never been able to hide from Tony. And, even if he did manage an escape, it wouldn’t last long. Tony always found him.

Maybe he could explain himself. Explain why he’d run, why he was no good for the Avengers. Explain to Tony that he didn’t need to repay any favors, that Peter had saved his life just because it was the right thing to do, not because he expected anything in return.

Peter stood and scrubbed the tears away, but didn’t turn to face him. “Look, I know you’re probably really mad that I left, but–“

Metal hands gripped his shoulders and whirled him around. Peter gasped at the suddenness of it. Tony’s eyes, alight with sheer terror, stared into his.

“Peter,” he said in a strangled sort of way, voice filled to the brim with more fear than Peter had thought the man capable of feeling. “Please tell me you didn’t take anything.”

Peter said, honest and somewhat shocked, “Of course I didn’t–“

The wind was knocked out of him as Tony pulled him close, his warm chest hitting the cold of the Iron Man suit, metal arms wrapped painfully tight around him. “Don’t you ever – _ever_ do that again. You scared the shit out of me. I thought I was gonna find you overdosed in a goddamn alley somewhere. Holy _fuck,_ I’m so glad you’re okay, you absolutely monstrous little _shit._ ”

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered. He allowed the tears to flow again when they burned urgently behind his eyes, because this man had already seen him cry enough saltwater to fill the entire Atlantic ocean. “I wasn’t – I wasn’t trying to scare you. I didn’t think you’d get so scared. I was just…”

“Of fucking _course_ I was scared, dumbass–“

“I heard you. In the kitchen, with Captain Rogers. I know the Avengers don’t trust me, I know – I know you feel like you have to repay me for saving you. You don’t. It’s fine. You don’t owe me anything.”

Slowly, Tony pulled back to look at him again, and – well. Now he really _was_ angry.

“Peter Parker,” he said, voice low and, frankly, a little bit terrifying. “You have got to be shitting me right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said again, because he wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I’m not trying to repay anything. That was – I was making a point to Captain Holier-Than-Thou. If you wanted to infiltrate the Tower and kill us or something, you wouldn’t have saved me that day. That was pure instinct. Our enemies don’t tend to instinctively save our lives. Friends, on the other hand…”

Peter breathed hard and unsteady around the lump rising in his throat. “I’m your friend?”

“ _God_. You fucking idiot. Come here.”

Despite the harsh words, there was no malice in his voice. He stepped out of the suit for this hug, which was softer, more careful. Fingers ran through Peter’s wind-mussed hair, rubbed his back, and he felt Tony shaking.

Peter hugged him back in earnest. For once, he touched something, and – lo and behold – it remained whole.

* * *

“I can’t do this, Mister Stark. I _can’t_. He hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you, PJs. He’s got a God complex the size of Manhattan and probably some unresolved PTSD – and he’s an _asshole_ – but he doesn’t hate you. He’s just…protective of his people. To the point of detriment, apparently.”

That might have been true – but he still didn’t want to sit in a room alone with the man and _talk_ to him.

Peter shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot, standing inside the twenty-car garage beneath Avengers Tower. Happy shot him a sympathetic look through the windshield before driving away. “What if he, like, knocks me out with his shield or something?”

“Then I’ll punch his perfect teeth in,” Tony replied easily. “But, trust me, he won’t. He was…regretful, earlier. I may or may not have lost my shit when I realized you’d left the Tower.”

“And that made him…sorry?” Peter quirked an eyebrow. He meant no offense but, honestly, he found it a little difficult to imagine the century-old, super soldier veteran who’d led the fight against Nazi Germany was scared of a playboy billionaire with some shiny armor.

Tony winced. “…I may or may not have also gone off on a rant about how fantastic you are. _Don’t_ –“ He held up a finger and squeezed his eyes tight, “let that go to your head, or I’ll sell all your comic books on E-Bay.”

Despite the nervousness twisting in his stomach, Peter had to fend off a smirk. “How _fantastic_ I am, huh?”

“Your lab privileges are about to be revoked.”

Peter promptly shut up.

* * *

True to Tony’s word, when Peter entered the common room where he’d been told Steve was anxiously awaiting his return, the man was anything but hateful.

“Peter.” Steve rose to his feet the instant the door opened, the wrinkle of his brow smoothing out a little in relief. “Hi.”

In the weeks that he’d spent living in the same building with Steve, he’d never once said Peter’s name aloud – not when he was around to hear it, anyway. It was almost as big of a shock as the sudden attitude change the Captain seemed to have undertaken since they last stood face to face.

“Hey,” Peter murmured sheepishly, not meeting his eyes. “I’m – I’m really sorry for causing all this trouble. I didn’t think Mister Stark would get so mad at you–“

Steve shook his head firmly. “No, son. I’m the one who needs to apologize. I made a snap judgement about your character the moment FRIDAY told us you were a substance abuser, and I shouldn’t have. Tony was the same way when we met, but when I got to know him, he turned out to be a good man. _I’m_ sorry. I should have known better.”

That admission – that it was his drug use which had made Steve so leery of him – was a harsh one, but it was honest, and that, at least, Peter could appreciate. He swallowed hard.

“That’s…understandable,” he said meekly. “A lot of people who are into drugs are, you know, up to no good, so…”

“Tony told me all about you after you ran off earlier. About your family. Why you were out there on the streets in the first place. I apologize if it was an invasion of your privacy, if you didn’t want me to know all of that, but I think it was something I needed to hear.”

“That’s not an excuse for me being an addict,” Peter said. “The stuff that happened to me. You lost your parents, too. You didn’t go all crazy and start using.”

“I was an adult when my mother died, Peter. I had a job, a roof over my head, and food on my table – not a lot, but it was there. And even if you’d had those things, too, it wouldn’t make you a lesser man for becoming an addict. We all cope in different ways.”

And, _God_ , there were the tears again. But this wasn’t Tony. He couldn’t cry here, now, in front of somebody who was as good as a stranger to him, an acquaintance at best. This wasn’t Tony. He couldn’t cry. This wasn’t Tony.

The tears fell, anyway. “I just – I don’t blame you. I’m not mad at you. It’s fine.”

Steve stepped closer. Peter dared a glance at him. His eyes were sad and, just as Tony had said, regretful. “It’s not fine. The way I’ve been treating you isn’t fine at all, Peter, and I’m very sorry. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’ll understand if you don’t want to be around me much after that. But do you think maybe we could start over?”

Starting over. That seemed to be a recurrent theme in this season of his life; turning a new leaf, turning the tides, beginning anew.

What was one more leaf? “I…yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”

Steve offered a slight, sorrowful smile, and extended a hand for him to shake.

Peter did.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! as always, you can find me on tumblr under the same username!


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